


Salve Sis

by QuillerQueen



Series: Bread and Games [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Gen, Illnesses, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 05:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14037051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: Prompt 145: Roland falls ill. Sneak peek from a future chapter of Bread and Games. Potentially spoilery and subject to change.





	Salve Sis

It’s the third time Roland has sniffed, and Robin’s casting him anxious glances as the four of them trudge through the mud.

The nights have become a bit chillier with the decline of summer, and after months of soft beds and upholstered sofas in stately residences of Rome and Capua, Roland isn’t used to sleeping on floors anymore. The days, too, are far less the stuffy nightmare of the city, as they find reprieve from the blistering sun beneath thick forest foliage. Perhaps the fresh morning air or the evening breeze nipped him just enough to cause a bit of a cold.

When he first sneezes that evening, Robin plies him with steaming tea and fusses over him all night. Regina fashions a tiny cape out of one of their blankets for Roland, and one for Henry just to be safe.

The boys wear their capes proudly, and Roland shows no marks of discomfort all day—not a sneeze or a sniff to get in the way of play. They chase each other around, weaving between trees, and Robin breathes more easily, twines his fingers with Regina’s and grins at her, the crease of concern in his brow replaced by crinkles around twinkling eyes. When dusk comes bearing an invigorating chill and they pull cloaks and blankets tighter around them, however, Roland divests himself of his instead, protesting his father’s efforts to bundle him up with cries of _but it’s so hot, Papa!_

His fever continues to rise overnight until his forehead is no longer merely warm to the lips but almost scorching to touch. The teeth-chattering chills don’t let up. By midnight, Roland develops a wet, heaving cough that sends his little body into desperate spasms, propelling it from the makeshift bed straight into Robin’s arms.

“It hurts to breathe,” he sniffles tearfully, sinking into Robin, who looks up at Regina with rising desperation.

She brews borage tea and spends what seems like hours coaxing Roland to drink it. She rubs his little chest with a salve of mint, her own chest tightening at the sight and sound of the child’s fast, shallow breathing. She mixes her meager supply of honey and wine together to ease his pain, and watches him finally sink into a fitful sleep after a few heavy gulps.

Robin sits there, slumped against the mighty oak’s trunk and quite unaware of the protruding knots digging into his spine, cradling his son in a tight yet gentle embrace. His eyes are dry but frantic, his face drained of colour. She knows it’s coming, but the way his voice splinters around the question almost breaks her in half, too.

“Tell me true—how bad is it?”

It’s bad. Bad enough that she’s not sure she can help him here, deep in the woods, with limited supplies and twofold enemy forces at their backs. Some healer she is.

“If we manage to bring his fever down by morning, it’ll be a good sign.”

“And if not?”

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it—quite the opposite. The option’s been at the back of her mind for a while, eating away at her, chipping off pieces of her soul. She needs her supplies, more than her travel kit offers, and perhaps even the help of her mentor. Roland needs rest, peace and safety they can’t provide while on the run. This train of thought, however, leads to a single logical conclusion, and it’s one she’d rather not entertain. Because it’d essentially mean trading one life for another.

“Then Rome would be our only option,” she swallows heavily, reaching for Robin’s hand and squeezing, grasping, clutching, as if that could hold him back.

Robin won’t hesitate to lay down his life in exchange for his son’s—and Regina can’t fault him for that, because she’d do the same, without blinking an eye.

But it doesn’t matter. It won’t come to that. Roland will pull through, and such a sacrifice won’t be necessary.

She thinks.

She hopes.


End file.
